


Mutts and Miscommunication

by Msynergy



Category: Maleficent (2014)
Genre: Drabble, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:27:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Msynergy/pseuds/Msynergy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Men weren’t especially flexible creatures, but somehow he found his foot in his mouth as one more often than not when it came to his Mistress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutts and Miscommunication

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I wish, but no, I don’t own the characters/show.

Author’s Note: This one’s for akirateku, inspired by their wonderful comic found [here](http://akirateku.tumblr.com/post/89545365118/diaval-no-you-are-not-helping).

Men weren’t especially flexible creatures, but somehow he found his foot in his mouth as one more often than not when it came to his Mistress.

And when he said something particularly cringe worthy she’d turn him into an animal of the canine variety, and usually left him that way for the rest of the day or night. 

This night was one of those times.

She’d already stomped off, leaving him to lament his new form with a whine.

He’d only been trying to make her feel better, but yet again he’d stepped it in, and was stuck once more as a mangy mutt. His only consolation was that at least his feet weren’t actual paws, instead taking more after his beautiful raven self, but still…

Diaval huffed, wondering how many times he’d be stuck in this shape in the future, but a scent passed by his sensitive nose and he stilled.

It smelled like salt, and water.

Tears, he realized with a start. But following the trail curiously only left him more shocked, because he found Maleficent, sitting on a piece of the ruin of the castle she’d claimed as her own, curled in on her self with her back to him. A sniff was picked up by his ears, and the scent of tears slammed into his nose again.

Softly, his four legs carried him to her, and he sat beside her without a sound, an instinct he didn’t recognize driving him to place his head on her lap.

She said nothing, and the only movement her fingers made were to place themselves on his head, moving through his fur and feathers until the tension in her shoulders relaxed and tears dried.

Perhaps being a dog wasn’t so bad after all, Diaval thought, if he could offer his Mistress some comfort. He’d die, however, before telling her as much.


End file.
